c. 2019 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(9-19)
Sunset.
The cycle of mortal
existence is not unlike a day being witnessed in slow motion. From
sunrise to the fullness of noon, then the cascade toward evening, and
eventual stillness of night. This regular happening fits the pattern
set by our creator. We reflect what is in us and around us. A play
performed in the image of nature and God.
Regular readers of
this series will remember that I wrote about the journey of my
parents following their own trajectory toward the light of eternity.
Last year, my father finally slipped away as his temporal shell grew
too frail to continue. This left my mother alone at the Mansfield
Place nursing home, in Philippi, West Virginia. A spot both friendly
and convenient to provide for her care. Yet with the rush of events,
there had not been enough time to properly set everything into
motion. Funding for her residency did not exist. Family efforts to
secure Medicaid coverage began in February. Yet over six months
later, this task remained uncompleted. Her applications, filled out
by my sister and then by myself, were rejected over and over again.
Mother’s unpaid invoices filled an entire folder. She was $36,000
in the red, and pleas from the home had grown more desperate. We
feared that she would have to leave her beloved Mountaineer State.
While wallowing in
this relentless tide of frustration, I remembered the name of her
favorite senator. A fellow who had once been governor of the state.
Joe Manchin III. I composed a short letter to explain our
predicament, and sent it to one of his offices. Some members of the
family were amused by this strategy. They reckoned that such a busy
fellow would have little time to address the plight of an old woman
from Barbour County.
Happily, Senator Joe
proved them wrong.
He replied quickly
with a personal note, and a form to authorize an investigation into
mother’s needs. Eventually, he contacted the head of DHHR, the
Department of Health and Human Resources. The agency responsible for
oversight of the Medicaid program in their state. Suddenly, the
process transitioned in velocity from a snail’s crawl to the sprint
of a cheetah. I returned to Philippi with my sister, and we met the
local caseworker in charge. Denial turned to assurances that Mom
would receive her coverage without further delay. In early September,
I was formally appointed as her conservator. Sister became her legal
guardian. At last, we had finished our work.
My mother thrived in
the social environment of her nursing home. She interacted well with
other residents and the staff. Many of these people knew her
personally. Church members, neighbors, and relatives from around
Parkersburg visited her often. Her meals were a culinary delight.
Lots of variety in each menu, with a foundation of staple foods like
ham, beans, cornbread, and biscuits with sausage gravy. She stayed
full in her belly and in spirit. Activities continued throughout each
day. She was rarely alone in her room, except to slumber.
Movies provided an
extra compliment to this regimen of activities. During one visit, we
sat with Mom and watched ‘The Wizard of Oz.’ Though I had seen
this celluloid classic many times, it took on new meaning when viewed
with a group of wide-eyed oldsters. Before, this film had reminded me
of the wonder I felt when seeing it as a child. Now, that perspective
flipped to the innocence of seasoned souls peering from the opposite
end of their journey. A sweet and joyful moment to be cherished
forever.
Mother seemed poised
for a long, restful stay at the nursing home. But like a thrilling,
summer day, her experience came to its conclusion too quickly. In
August, she suffered what appeared to have been a stroke. Her ability
to eat and drink were compromised. No longer did her voice ring out
with zeal. She confided to a friend from the Union Church of Christ
that her heart was ready for surrender and peace.
We stayed with Mom
in a private room, for 33 hours. My sister believed it was her desire
to have one long, last visit with us, before saying goodbye. Every
breath came only through the might of deliberation and desire. A
fight to stay with her children. Then, she quieted to a whisper. We
kissed her forehead. I held her hand.
When the struggle
was done, I prayed over her body.
She was laid to rest
next to my father, in Parkersburg. By Allie and Lulu McCray, my
grandparents. And Aunt Audrey & Uncle Blaine, who were so dear to
our hearts. With Uncle Fritz and Aunt Edna nearby. Her journey from
sunrise to sunset was complete.
In the aftermath, I
ran an ad in the Barbour Democrat newspaper, to offer thanks. A
tribute and salutation. Gratitude for the people who had given our
parents over 30 years of fellowship. A lingering bond never to be
broken. Affinity for this town on the Tygart Valley River that would
continue into eternity.
I shared the
clipping with Senator Joe, after we were back in Ohio. Then, a
package arrived in the mail. I was stunned by his gift. An official
proclamation, bound and sealed:
“John F.
Kennedy said the sun doesn’t always shine in West Virginia, but the
people always do. Gwendolyn exemplified this and her light will
forever shine through those that honor her memory… I extend to you
my most sincere condolences for the loss of this wonderful person.
The unwavering love she had for her family, friends, community, and
our home state will live on forever in the hearts of all who knew
her. I know she and Rhoderick are looking down on all of you with a
smile.”
Mom
and Dad both supported Manchin at the ballot box, despite differing
on their own political loyalties. They believed he was a faithful
guardian of the state. As governor and in the United States Senate. I
knew that this final gesture would gladden their hearts, in eternity.
Thank
you, Senator Joe!
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‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com
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